My Little Pony: Absolute Justice
by Lord Hierarch
Summary: The Justice Society has long since disbanded, but a new enemy is hunting them down.  With a new age of Super-Ponies dawning, old heroes must unite with new heroes to not only survive but ensure Justice.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't know the JSA or My Little Pony. I wish I did though.**

**.**

**You always see crossovers between the JLA/Avengers and MLP, but I've yet to see one with the real heroes of the DC/Marvel Universes – the one organization that started it all: The JUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA. **

**Beware. **

**.**

_During the days of the Great Threats, a group of costumed mystery ponies gathered together to form the first superhero team of all time. With their strange and fantastical powers and weapons the Mystery Mares and Stallions of the Justice Society kept the lands of Equestria clear of threats that the Equestrian Guards could not handle. _

**.**

The salt-and-pepper pony sat alone on top of the gently sloping hill, and sighed almost wistfully at the young colts dashing around and about the park that lied just beyond the limits of Maretropolis. They were so young, brimming with untapped reserves of energy – oh where had the time gone, he wondered. He used to be like that, dashing here and there between alleyways and from rooftop to rooftop like a mad pony, always hiding in the shadows while he snooped around. He smiled nostalgically – he didn't exactly go around catching balls and discs in his day but the analogy was close enough

He tore his eyes from the game and focused them on the descending sun and sighed at the sunset. He hadn't even fallen asleep yet, he chuckled. Not that he was complaining though; his dreams never really did bring him the rest he wanted or deserved. He was so focused on watching the sun that he didn't hear the soft potter-patter of hooves coming up from behind until it was too late.

"Hullo there."

Dodds let out a strangled cry and leapt to his hoofs, kicking his ear legs back while at the same time swerving to face his attacker. Out of reflex he reached toward his sides for his gas guns before he realized when he was, where he was and who he was facing with a mischievous grin on his wrinkled face. "Is that anyway there to treat an old friend?" The old stallion chortled much to Dodds chagrin although that didn't stop a smile from crawling over his lips. "How long has it been since you hung up the mask, eh Wesley? Twenty two years and you still have it, not bad for somepony your age."

"I could've broken your jawbone old man," Wesley Dodds said snorted as Sandy pretended look offended.

"Old Man? Please, I can still rough you up if I wanted to."

Dodds didn't doubt it. Sandy Dream may have not have had the magic of Karkull keeping him fit and young, or the experience in fighting criminals and monsters that Dodds had, but he was a force that Dodds had never seen in any of the creatures he fought in the old days. Even now, seeing his aged friend, Dodds still felt intimidated like he had been when he was a little colt in the Maretropolis Police Force.

For a moment, Dodds wanted to pretend that he was young again, that he was still in uniform (or costume) and that Sandy was right at his side as they investigated the uncountable crimes of Maretropolis by Equestria's worst. But the look in Sandy's eyes, a look that Wesley was uncomfortably familiar with, broke that fantasy and brought him back to reality and to the business at hand.

"I thought you retired."

The gray-mane pony gave him a look of surprise before snorting before slowly sitting on the grassy hill. "I did but that doesn't mean that I can't keep an ear on things." Dodds felt his ears flatten against his head at the pitying look in Sandy's eyes. Something was wrong, he just knew it. "Wesley," Sandy went on, scratching his mane, "did you know that one of your, um, super-friends was living in the city?"

"Super-?"

Oh.

"Yes, yes I did. We didn't keep in touch that much, the contract and all that," he randomly waved his hoof before it sunk in. "Did something happen to him," he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

Sandy hesitated: "You… don't know?"

The pony narrowed his eyes at his old friend's hesitation. Why in blazes was he avoiding the question? Deep inside of him Wesley knew what had happened but he didn't want to admit it – he had lost too many friends already and had seen so many ponies' die that it would have driven most pony's mad. But he hadn't gone mad; on the contrary he had pushed on ahead, adopted a new name and challenged history until he was able to prevent the deaths of the same ponies he had seen die. He had been a hero, and with others like him, he had gone on to do so much more until _they _came after them, putting them down one by one until they forced to hide away like rats.

He stamped his hoofs into the ground, annoyed. "Don't know what? What happened to _McRider_?"

Sandy's ears drooped and he murmured something.

But he heard it.

"_Didn't you dream about it_?"

"No."

Sandy cocked his head, a look of surprise on his wrinkly face. "I don't mean to sound insensitive here Wesley but that's a first. I would've thought that you would've been the first pony to know…" he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You have been sleeping, right? You aren't-"

"No. It's just-" Wesley hesitated. "How did you find out?"

"It was in the papers Wesley; even if you didn't dream it, you would've seen it. We don't have that many murders in Maretropolis anymore so when they do happen they usually get front page, especially something like this." Wesley wondered if Sandy knew just how insensitive that sounded although he didn't blame him. He didn't know the reason why he didn't dream about McRider's death.

"I don't read the papers anymore, there's never anything important in them. But why was this one so special?" '_Besides it being an old friend_,' he thought mournfully. He remembered Charles – he had bandaged every member of the Society at least half a dozen times and had always been a good friend, always there to lend a hand to anypony despite his so-called 'Visual handicap.' Of all the ponies to be murdered, he never thought it would be McRider. Last he heard the old stallion had a family now with two colts and a little filly. Poor pony, he never deserved to die. He wondered how they were holding up and made a note to visit them even if they didn't know him.

The least he could do for Charles.

"You should."

Reaching into his saddle bags (where did they come from Wesley wondered,) he pulled out today's paper with his mouth and dropped it in front of Dodds. His eyes widened as he stared at the enlarged photo that took up half of the front page. Sprawled on top of a pool of blood in what looked like an alleyway wasn't just Charles McRider but his alternate persona – a costume he hadn't seen in more than two decades. It was tighter than he remembered (Charles obviously hadn't been keeping fit) but there was no mistaking the red suit, green cowl or the intricate goggles over the pony's eyes.

He took a deep breath.

"No one touched the body?"

"He was like that when they found him, Wesley."

Sandy leaned forward.

"Why."

It took a few moments for the word to sink in. It wasn't a question as much as a statement and it jolted Dodds from his stupor. "You think that I'd know," he said both outraged and hurt by the assumption. He honestly wished he did know – what would possess Charles to put on the suit after two decades? It didn't make sense, unless Charles had gotten back into the game to relieve his glory days. But even then, back when, he didn't really fight unless they couldn't talk the criminal down. "I wish I knew," he said after the long pause. "I really do Sandy, but I don't. I, we didn't really keep in contact after he moved to the big city. None of us really kept in contact after the end."

Sandy sighed. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to pry but I heard that it raised a bit of a ruckus. Your pal was friends with a lot of officers and a lot of them haven't taken this too lightly." '_Neither am I_,' Dodds thought. He wondered if the others knew about McRider's death – he was the first one to die after they disbanded. "But here's something we haven't talked about – why didn't you know?"

"I don't always dream about murders," he answered sardonically.

"But you don't go one day without giving anonymous tips to the department about would-be murders Dodds. Oh I know about your little calls Wesley," he added seeing the flabbergasted look on his friend's face. "You have to be more careful. But for the last two weeks, you haven't made one call and now? Something's up Wesley and you're hiding something. I'm a friend, you can trust me."

Wesley looked away.

"I… can't.'

"Why the hell not," he demanded.

"Because it's personal," Wesley snapped getting to his hooves.

Sandy scowled. "The hell it is Wesley – nothings personal when you have a connection to a victim and have a power to boot. If you're hiding something that's detrimental to anypony in this city then you have to tell me!"

"I don't," he snapped.

Sandy just stared as the Sandman walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't know the JSA or My Little Pony. I wish I did though.**

**.**

_During the days of the Great Threats, a group of costumed mystery ponies gathered together to form the first superhero team of all time. With their strange and fantastical powers and weapons the Mystery Mares and Stallions of the Justice Society kept the lands of Equestria clear of threats that the Equestrian Guards could not handle. _

**.**

Dodds shivered in his run down bed, his face contoured into one of pain and fear, of anguish, and of despair. He let out a soft scream, his throat constricting as uncontrollable bursts of demented gleeful laughter crept from the strange pony. He was dreaming, he knew that, and it was the same dream as before and as it had been for the last two weeks. It never changed, never deviated from its final outcome and it never ended well for him. The only thing that really did change was the scenery for no matter where he went, no matter how far he went, the same pony would be waiting for him. He wanted to wake up, he wanted to end it now before it finished but couldn't. It wasn't because he didn't want to, oh Celestia knew that he wanted to but his dreams wouldn't let him go until he had seen what he needed to see no matter how painful it was for him.

His power was curse and a gift.

How… _cliché_.

In the end, standing in a field of sharpened icicle, chest heaving slowly and his fur matted with water and broke ice shards, he looked up into the insane face of his attacker, his killer, and tried to raise his hooves, tried to aim his weapons for one last shot. But he couldn't, and like always he was at his mercy.

The _horse _leaned forward and whispered into his ear:

"_Sweet dreams Mr. Dodds_."

Dodds screamed.

Then he woke up.

A coffee mug fell from his hoofs as he took in his surroundings, dazed as his mind sluggishly tried to recreate what had happened, what he had dreamt and what he was going to do next. Any pony would have yawned, sluggishly moving from one thing to the next for the next hour or two but he had woken from so many dreams so abruptly that it had become second nature to him and his mind. He looked around his apartment, a far cry from the nice comfortable and expansive (compared to this dump) stable that he had lived in two generations ago and took a deep breath, the air fused with the smell of all the coffee cans, pots and cups that were littered on the tables and counters.

Not for the first time he wished it just a dream. But after more almost half a century of running on rooftops and stalking his targets on the streets, he knew better. He didn't dream, not the types of dreams that ponies usually had. No, he dreamt about murders, murders that were happening and that were going to happen. He knew all about murders the ponies that committed them - and he done his best to stop out and in costume until he was forced to stop by the very government he was helping.

"I'm going to die," he said to no pony in particular, tittering off the bed, his knees unusually weak today. He looked around another time and took a deep breath. Yes, it was sinking in now as it had before. He was going to die soon – someone had found him, found out who he had used been and for some reason, perhaps for petty revenge, killed him in cold blood. Someone knew who he was, knew where he lived and where to find him. Someone was specifically targeting him and already had taken out a member of the Society, one of his brothers. '_Rest in peace Charles,_' he thought, thinking back to the funeral that had taken place just a few days ago. He could hardly believe it.

Rest…

No!

"Not again, not going to wait," he muttered. The tired anxious look in his eyes gave way to an iron resolve, a resolve to live no matter what it took. It was a look that the world had not seen in many years since the costumed mares and stallions of Equestria vanished from the minds of everypony.

"An attack on one of is an attack on all," he said to no pony in particular, reciting a old motto they had when the Society was still find its way through the world, when they were still trying to find out how to combine their powers and utilize them against the foes that were creeping out of the Evergreen Forest. He walked to the door, wiping his face clean with a rag before turning his head towards the drab gray mask hanging from hat rack and the long gas nozzle wrapped around the bottom.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hoof, walked towards the rack and grabbed the mask between his two front hoofs, staring into its large oval-shaped goggles. When he took to the streets in costume he had discovered and re-developed a type of non-lethal gas as his tool of hope, to put the criminals of Equestria to sleep. To protect himself from his own fumes he, like Jay, chose a relic specifically for that purpose, a mask designed specifically to keep the most lethal of toxic fumes out.

They called it a 'Gas mask.'

'_Time to go to sleep_,' he thought.

As he raised the gas gun, a previously buried strength flowed through his body. He trotted to a mirror and looked at himself, and felt like he had gone back in time (again) – by Celestia he felt so young! The gas pack didn't as heavy as it had a few minutes ago; in fact it barely even felt as if it was there anymore. He armed the gas gun and took a deep breath, exhaling through the mask. The air tasted strange now, but it was a familiar scene and one that he, and he was proud to admit it, missed.

_This _was who he really was.

No more hiding.

Not anymore, never again. If this pony wanted him, then he wasn't going to go without giving that pony the fight of his life.

He tilted his head to the side, frowned, and then reached up to adjust his hat so his ears wouldn't stick out so much. He wondered if this was what Charles had felt when he put the costume back on it. Did he feel powerful again, confident, a changed pony from the pony he was acting as? No, now wasn't the time for semantics he told himself. If that maniac was going after members of the Society then he wasn't going to wait for him to come like he dreamt. He was going to go out and fight him on his terms. He had fought monsters bigger and tough than ponies – hell; he had even gone against Dragons (although he was never alone during those adventures).

He shivered. Why was it so…?

A shiver went down his spine

…_Cold_.

He raised his weapon.

'_Damn it_.'

"You dreamt about me, didn't you Mr. Dodds."

He didn't give any indication that the horse had surprised as he turned to face the blue-mane creature. He wondered only briefly how the stallion had gotten in without breaking open the door but discarded that train of thought for the present. He held the weapon loosely in his hands, breathing heavily. The pony was standing there like he always had, an arrogant look on his face intermingled with the lack of sanity in his gaze. The pony looked at his hoofs, a smile creeping up his face.

"But that's what you dream about. You dream about killers."

"Don't try anything my little pony," he sneered, steeling himself for the coming fight, narrowing his eyes as he took in his cramped quarters, seeing what he could use for protection and as a weapon. "I know what you are and what you can do. You seem to know quite a bit about me – so you should know that I took down bigger ponies than you kid. It wasn't smart to come here."

"Oh really," the pony laughed. He pressed his paws against the floor and pointed his horn towards Dodds. "You and your little cadre of friends have been around for way too long – my employers are sick of you and your kind taking up space here. The world has gotten better without you and your friends so there really is no point in letting you all live. You and your kind should really just stay in the comics like you said you would. It's time for the _Sandman_ to go to sleep."

He leveled the gun. "I'm not going down without a fight."

Frost grinned.

"Neither did McRider."


End file.
